


How to Turn Into a Monster

by vifetoile



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Complete, Drama & Romance, Dread, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Horror, I don't know and neither do the characters, Mycophobia, One Shot, Open Ending, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Slow Build, Speculation, Spelunking, entomophagy, link talks and signs, what's up with Link's arm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 18:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20457380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vifetoile/pseuds/vifetoile
Summary: The peace that they worked so hard to win is over. Now Zelda and Link delve into the caves far below Hyrule... with Kilton, the Monster Merchant, tagging along. But in the dark, Link begins to change, and Zelda begins to dream...Basically, it's my speculation for BotW 2 gone wild.





	How to Turn Into a Monster

**Author's Note:**

> This story will not have a sequel; it's basically me hot-gluing together a lot of wild guesses about BotW 2 with the simple premise that BotW 2 will be to BotW 1, what Majora's Mask was to Ocarina of Time.  
I had a lot of fun with this. This veered closer to true horror than anything else I've written. Enjoy! R&R!

The earth quaked. Strange monsters were seen by twilight. Glowing, stalking creatures, and sentinels that wore masks of white wood. And the birds, colored as red as chokecherries. Those with the ears to hear magic heard… something, something like a woman talking backwards, when they strayed near empty wells and shattered doorways.

Reports from every corner of Hyrule confirmed it.

The peace that had been paid for with the Champions’ deaths, and the Princess’ suffering, and the Hero’s toil, was over.

A new nightmare was beginning.

1.

Zelda’s study was a riot of papers. Books lay open on every horizontal surface. And to her eternal frustration, none of the books _helped_. Calamity Ganon, for all his terror, had at least had the decency to show up often enough, and linger long enough, that researchers had been able to amply describe his methods, appearance, and weaknesses. But these things?

Masked creatures, standing sentinel over some marker only they could perceive—slicing blades that were only detected by the sound of shaking chains—red birds that not only attacked travelers, but knew to rob their single most valuable possession—

“There’s no _record _of these things,” Zelda said, frustrated, one evening at Purah’s laboratory in Hateno Village. “And there may have been, but the Calamity destroyed the books, or scrolls, or minds that knew about them. Have I met every researcher of your contacts?” she asked Purah. “Is there anyone who specializes in dangerous creatures?”

“All of the creature specialists, sad to say, are missing and presumed dead. Very dismal,” Purah said.

There was a cough. They both looked at Link. His mouth was quirked, but not in a smile. He met Zelda’s gaze, and said in his soft voice, “I know a guy.”

2.

They went to Akkala. Zelda braced herself against bitter memories. There lay the Spring of Power. That was where she had begged, _begged _the Goddess to give Zelda a vision, a guide, anything that Zelda could _use_. Truth be told, Zelda still frowned at the thought of the Goddess… She who slept somewhere in Zelda’s unconscious… She who watched the world from a global superconscious… She who only gave Zelda the _conscious _use of Her sealing power some thirty-six hours too late. Too late for the Champions, too late for all of Castle Town, too late for so many souls…

Yes, to be in Akkala again brought on some gloom.

But Link spoke of the region with warmth. He told her about the breeze off the sea, the fire-lovely foliage—it would be even brighter now as autumn reached its strength. And he couldn’t wait to show her Tarrey Town.

“You’re a big favorite there, I hear,” she teased him. She basked in his smile. 

They reached the South Akkala stable. Beedle the merchant hailed Link, and the two fell into conversation. Zelda warmed up some milk by the cooking-pot, and heard two other travelers swapping gossip.

“How ‘bout them masked beasties, eh?” asked the first, a Rito merchant. Anklets clinked on her talons as she sat down.

“Damned nuisances,” growled the second, a Hylian with a ruby pinned to her hood. There was a _hsss _as she struck a match, and a whiff of tobacco as she lit a pipe. “If the parade ground isn’t cleared soon, it’s a twelve mile detour before I get home again, _with _luck.”

“Eh, the Princess has put out a word, she’s going to take a hand to clearing them herself.”

“The Princess, _ha._” the second woman said. Zelda said nothing, but sat up primly. “I guess everyone else is happy to follow some blonde sharpie, but I don’t know. There’s a hundred years of waste behind us to show what a princess is good for. Not to mention those Champions.”

“You bite your tongue!” said the Rito. “Revali and the other Champions fought bravely even after death. But you’re right,” she added, “the Princess did nothing but cry.”

“Excuse me.” Zelda got to her feet and left the fireside. She leaned against a gnarled maple tree and tried to take some of its peace into herself. Deep roots, entwined in soil and stone, and branches that bent in the wind but never broke. She could be like that, too. She took deep breaths, focusing on her breath, until her mind was still again.

3.

Zelda misliked Skull Lake. The asymmetry of it nagged her. What was the formation of the rocks here, to give them that bleached-bone appearance? And what strange soul—a merchant, according to Link—would make his home here?   
A purple balloon loomed over them, festooned with rags and enormous masks. As they approached the storefront, there was a sniffing sound. Zelda could make out a tenor voice asking, “Oh, visitors? What a potent odor! What a monstrous vintage! This smells positively…. _calamitous_!_”  
_Kilton turned around. Zelda couldn’t suppress a jump—what had _happened _to this man? Had he imbibed too many Stoneskin potions? Was he the product of a marriage between a Goron and a Hylian? What was wrong with him?

She chided herself for such rude thoughts. Kilton’s grey face split into a huge grin. He waved to Link. “Oooh, my favorite customer! What a wonderful monster you’ve brought me!”

4.

Zelda didn’t like Kilton. Even after Link explained that Kilton commented on _everyone’s _smell, and he didn’t mean to be rude, Zelda didn’t like him.

And dammit, Kilton knew where they should go. “The masked guardians definitely came from northeast,” he said. “And I think the thief birds make their nests up there, too. There’s this big old cave system. The caves wind southward, and I bet there’s a whole fascinating ecosystem down there. I’d love to see it, but I need an experienced spelunker to come spelunking with me.”

Link turned to Zelda and mouthed, “_Spelunker?_”

Zelda helped him out. “It means someone who explores caves.”

“Oh. I can do that,” Link replied.

“Fan-_tas_-tic! So you’ll be my escort?” Kilton clapped his hands and beamed at Link.

Zelda’s hands clenched into fists in her lap.

Things did not improve as they worked their way north, to where Kilton said the cave system began.  
She didn’t like the way Kilton would watch her like a bug under glass. He’d said that she smelled like a bit of the Calamity. She smelled like something ancient, something that had stolen far more than its apportioned measure of time.   
Zelda didn’t need a reminder, she didn’t need nightmares where her hands aged and shriveled and twisted before her eyes. She needed to find a way to save her kingdom, and Kilton was not helping.

5.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, you know,” he said to her. They were at the foot of a cliff, and it was raining. No way to go but up, nothing to do but wait.

Zelda didn’t answer. She was taking notes.

Kilton asked brightly, “Do you know you’re a ghost?”

Zelda’s quill stopped. “Come again?”

“Sure! You’re a famous spook. All over Hyrule, mammas tell their babies, ‘stay away from the river at night! The weeping princess is waiting there, and she’s so lonely that if you walk by, she’ll seize you and drag you underwater.’ That’s a good haunt for you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, putting down her notebook and turning to face him. “You must be mistaken. I can’t be a ghost.” She gestured to herself. “I’m not dead.”

“Far as most of Hyrule is concerned, you _are_. Or I should say, you were. But hey, you’ve been mythologized! A sad girl crying in a pool of limpid tears. Very romantical.”

“I don’t like that.” Zelda’s voice was sharp. “Pardon me.” She turned back to her notebook.

The morning was still young when Link stopped at the side of the road, staring at a tree.

“What’s the matter?” Zelda asked him. Kilton slowed to a stop.

Link didn’t answer. He took a little pebble off the ground, and threw it into the tree branches. _TING_

A chime sounded. There was a poof of leaves and laughter like a forest brook. “Haha! You found me, Mr. Hero!”

“Oh, just a Korok,” Zelda said.

“What was it that you were hiding in?” Link asked the Korok.

The Korok obligingly hopped aside. “The bell, of course! The old town bell.”

“Town bell?” Zelda peered into the sunken valley ahead of them, but could not see any houses. Trees, sure, maybe some ruins, but, goddess help her, all the ruins around Hyrule had started to rather look the same to her.

“I thought that this looked like a gate,” Link said, pointing to the trees on either side of the pass. They were twisted oak trees. A few rotted timbers were visible, along with a brass bell.

“But where’s the town?” asked Kilton.

“Over there,” the Korok gestured with a twig of willow leaves. When Link asked, the Korok led the way down the pass, hopping on the littlest breezes.

“All the fissures we’ve been passing by on the way here…” Link gestured at the Sheikah Slate, which was tucked at Zelda’s belt, “I think that they’re marks from an earthquake, many years ago.”

“There are fault lines near the edge of the continent,” Zelda agreed. “But most earthquakes around here are small.”

“But there was a big one,” said the Korok, “ages and ages back. The old trees remember it. Their roots got a shock that day, you betcha!”

“So where was the epicenter, then?” Zelda asked. She heard frogs croaking, somewhere to her left.

“I think the epicenter was right here,” Link said, stopping in a clearing. “And the damage was so terrible, the town itself was swallowed…” His voice trailed off. Kilton bustled past him.

“Well, _someone_ used to live here, look, there’s a well.” Kilton pointed. “And something _really _odiferous is lurking below!” He took an appreciative sniff.

Zelda tried to imagine this town as it was—lived in, cared for. “This couldn’t have been a Goron town, then—they could have shored up damage. Not enough water for Zoras, at least not anymore. It must have been Hylians who lived here…”

“Not Hylians.” Link was kneeling beside a little mound. Zelda joined him and helped him to brush dirt and moss off of a stone figure. A round, squat stone figure with bulging eyes and a generous smile.

A frog.

“This,” Zelda took a breath. “This was a Sheikah village.”

“Old Kakariko,” he said. “The city of sparks.” 

“It was _here_,” she said, wonder creeping into her voice. “_Here _is where they built the Divine Beasts, and the guardians—four huge windmills, they made music—“ she turned, and ghosts stirred behind her eyes. Amid the ruins and trees, she could see-imagine the windmills, the pottery kilns, the forges and laboratories, watched over by frog spirits. Year by year, the city had danced into greater heights of marvels, rendering miracles of science or magic (or both), creating weapons of terror and beauty—until some terrible disaster, something unnamed in all the records kept by the fastidious scholars—_something_ had claimed the city in a day and a night. Old Kakariko.

The earth trembled beneath their feet. A cold breeze picked up, and a noise—like the groan of a person waking up from a deep sleep. Tremble, wind, and noise came from the well. They turned.

“Well,” said Kilton, backing away from the well as the tremors increased, “I was right. There _is _something in the well. I think it will join us real soon.”

7.

Zelda had expected darkness to spew out of the well, but instead, _light _emerged. Light crawled out, and scampered towards Zelda. (Why? Did it want to get at the Sheikah Slate? Or was it hunting that vestige of divine power?)

Link was more ready than not. He moved lightning-quick, and shoved Zelda out of the way, and that _thing_, that phosphorescent thing had burrowed into his arm, and _Link was in pain_

He had landed on the ground, and bent around his arm—Zelda reached for her medical kit—Link _screamed_, and the sound froze her. No matter what the pain, Link had never let out more than a groan. His frame collapsed. He lay splayed on the ground, letting out an awful groan that turned into a yell, and there was something inhuman, something _lupine_ in the sound.

_If only he hadn’t touched that thing_.

And behind her Kilton toddled up. “That looks nasty,” he said, as if this was just a little scrape, a nothing. “Is he having a seizure?”

Seizure. The word galvanized Zelda. She ripped the gauntlet off her own wrist—it was finest Hateno leather—and forced it into Link’s mouth, something for him to bite on. He bit hard—what was happening to his teeth? Were they growing?

“_Help me_,” she snapped at Kilton. Before she even finished Kilton was kneeling on Link’s other side, with the wounded arm—the glowing force was traveling _up_, past the elbow, bulging his veins, illuminating his bones. And Kilton was speaking.

“No, you don’t, don’t get any ideas, I’m gonna fence you in _here_ and we’ll see what happens next—“ A length of purple silk appeared in his hands. “Help keep him still, will you?” he said to Zelda.

She did the best she could, leveraging her own weight. “Link, Link, my heart, stay with me, stay with me, I’m here, please stop screaming—“ she said to him. She noticed that Kilton was tying a tourniquet with swift, practiced ease.

She smelled something bitter. What medicine was Kilton working? Link’s moan was rising to a howl, and Zelda kept pleading, “Stay with me, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here, _Link_…”

He seized up, and then relaxed. She sat up and looked into his drowsing, damp face. He was himself again, her own beloved Link. What had happened to him?

“Medicine’s taking hold,” said Kilton.

“Thank you, thank you so much—“ she started to say, then she saw Link’s right hand. The glow had not abated. His hand was suffused with that eerie light. “That thing, it’s still there,” she said.

Kilton went on. “I don’t know the antidote exactly,” he said, a bit peevishly. “But I stopped the spread of it. We’ve got time.” He caught her look. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t let him _die_. He’s my best customer.”

8.

“I don’t like it,” Zelda said, looking over Link’s hand. Her own hands were gloved. When she looked away to take notes, the light left dancing spots in her eyes. “Nothing natural glows like that.”

“Nonsense,” said Kilton.

“I beg your pardon?” Zelda turned towards him.

“Plenty of natural things glow like that. Deep-sea fishies, glow-worms, silent mushrooms, blue nightshade, certain eels… don’t you know the term ‘bioluminescent’? And you call yourself a biologist.”

“Nothing _human _glows like this,” Zelda snapped.

“Shows what you know,” Kilton said. He nodded to her left. She looked and saw Link’s wincing expression.

“Please don’t be upset,” she said to Link. “I don’t mean you. I want you to be well, to be whole. I’m just scared.”

Link nodded and smiled into her eyes. Zelda resolved to hold her tongue in the future.

9.

Several ruins in Old Kakariko had ports for the Sheikah Slate. However, only one was functional. That port was almost lost in a mountain of rotted books, in what must have been an important library for the town.

Zelda set the Sheikah Slate in the port. As the port’s information loaded into the Slate, she was aware of Kilton’s eyes on her, and aware of Link’s eyes, looking out, towards whatever came next.

“Download’s complete,” she announced, without enthusiasm. She checked the screen. The Slate now held two new maps—no, wait. It was two maps of one location, aboveground and underground. The first word that she could read was also the largest: the word “QUARRY” in an old script. The marker was marked triply with signals for danger.

Well then. “I know where we’re going next,” she said to her companions.

They followed the map until they came to a yawning chasm in the ground. A few little lights twinkled in the dark—bioluminescent glowworms. And around the chasm were huge stones. They had been quarried and cut. Each one held a faint inscription. A chilling feeling swept over Zelda. All these miles, and someone had been here before them. Ages ago, someone else had opened the path for them. As though _waiting_.

Her anger flared up. How _dare _they try and frighten her. Her _kingdom _was on the line, and she’d had _practice _being scared.

“Let’s go,” she said, gritting her teeth and descending into shadow.

10.

The caves, at first, were not that bad.

The path wound through a shallow little grotto, but as they descended, the ceiling rose. Soon they were walking through a cavern, whose soaring arches and echoing acoustics would have inspired a temple architect for years. There were gaps in the ceiling, which let in sunlight by the bucketful, and the sunlight fell on pools, which swarmed with mosquitos, fish, and lotus blossoms. Well, that meant there was enough light for now, at least. At least until the sun went down.

No monsters yet. Plenty of mushrooms to munch on. Zelda took first watch.

Link was having nightmares. Zelda was at his side to comfort him—she couldn’t possibly sleep, so might as well comfort him, right?

He was whimpering in his sleep. His hands—the good one and the, well, the _injured _one—were twitching a little. She even saw his fingers forming signs, or beginning to.

“Come back,” he murmured, through clenched teeth. “Please come back… “

“I’m right here, Link,” she said, leaning over him. Her hand traced circles on his shoulder and she spoke softly. “I’m right here, I’m back.”

“Please come back—I love you—Midna, come back—“

She stopped. “Who the hell is Midna?”

She listened again. Had he said “Mipha”? No, he said “Midna” again clear as day. “I’m nothing without you, come back, let me be your wolf, your pet, your slave… Midna, please…”

“Don’t talk like that, Link. I’m right here, you’re nobody’s slave.”

“Midna…” his wail faded, and in a different, lighter voice he said, “Navi, stop playing hide-and-seek, we have to go home, Navi—“

“Link, who the hell is Navi?”

“I’ll bring you back… I’ll play the song… you swore we’d always play together, the song will bring you back—oath to order…” and his mumblings subsided. He stirred awake a few moments later. His eyes were miserable, and when Zelda asked him about what he’d said, he had no meaning or memory to give her.

11.

Kilton said to her, “You can’t cling to being perfect, Princess.”

“I’m not asking for advice,” Zelda said, not quite focused. Link’s hand was bothering him again, and he was rubbing at his jaw, and when Zelda tried to ask him what was wrong, he very nearly snapped at her.

“Perfection is the enemy of happiness. That’s what I’ve always found,” Kilton remarked airily. “That’s why monsters are happy. They’re exaggerated. They love their flaws. They’ve bidden perfection a merry good-bye, a long time ago.”

“You’re talking to yourself,” said Zelda. Link had turned away from her again.

“What are your flaws, princess?” Kilton asked.

“_I’m not talking to you_.”

12.

In her dream, she was back in her study. The door was shut and the walls were snug and she was wonderfully alone. All the details were there: the window view of apple boughs dancing in the breeze, a stoneware mug full of hot tea with honey, her lamps and lenses adjusted just _so_. Zelda leaned into her favorite chair and sighed with relief—

And heard her name.

She darted up and looked around. The bookshelves were replaced by trees. She was deep in a forest. Far away she could hear a panpipe and shrieking laughter.

“Zelda,” came the voice again. Zelda followed the voice, until she found the woman speaking. Zelda’s stomach lurched at the sight.

An emaciated woman stood impaled on the trunk of a pine tree. From her heart the trunk split into three twisting boughs, which further spiraled around her shoulders and drooping head. Jewels glistened in the needles, reflecting bloody-victory-red. And yet Zelda saw that the woman _looked like her_. Golden hair, fine features, a tarnished crown.

“Listen to me,” said the woman in the tree. “I should never have challenged Time Herself. I thought I was goddess-wise, but I was a fool. I thought I acted for the best. My boy from the forest. He came back to me, but he was not with me. Half of his mind remained in the ruins, the kingdom I had erased. Nightmares haunted him. He remembered fighting as a man, but his body was a child’s.”

This made no sense to Zelda-the-dreamer, but she held her tongue. A lucid part of her reasoned that if she just listened well now, she could puzzle it out when she woke up.

“He didn’t know what to do. He was so terribly lost. I tried to help him, but he said he needed his guardian fairy, she was the one who would guide him. He went into the Lost Woods to find her. Into the Lost Woods…”

“Did he come back?” Zelda asked.

The woman turned her head to face Zelda fully—one eye was twisting into a pine knot, weeping sap. All she said was, “Learn from me. Remember me.”

“I’ll remember, Zelda,” Zelda said in a rush, and then she woke up, fighting a wave of nausea.

13.

Further into the caves. By Zelda’s estimation, they had gone six hours without seeing light from the sky. Longest interim of darkness yet. No sign of sun or moon.

It was so dark. Zelda fretted. What would happen when they ran out of torches, paper, what would they burn? What would they give up to keep light?

14.

Back in her study. Phew, a good dream. Zelda took a deep breath and relaxed. Then there was a loud knock at the door. She rushed up to answer it, and when she did, the light nearly blinded her. White as new parchment, white as the sun on the sea, too gods-damned white—it burned her eyes. She could dimly make out the figure of a queen, with straight posture and armored shoulders. Behind her, marble halls gleamed—of course—white. The queen might have been cast from silver, of a piece with the saber she gripped, but she breathed and spoke.

“Listen to me, Zelda.”

“I’m listening.”

Then Zelda and the other queen were walking down the marble halls, and Zelda had to make a quick veil out of a handkerchief so as not to be blinded by the glare. It was high noon. From far away came the echoes of a choir at practice.

The queen of blinding light said, in a stern, flat voice, “I trusted the old stories. Each story had the wicked thief who stole power, and the quiet princess in her castle, and the brave warrior of courage and luck. Each story ended with the thief in ash, the princess in the warrior’s arms. And I believed that. I learned that the world is full of lies, I discarded every fairy tale. But that one I saved. I knew that the warrior in green would be my love, as sure as a rhyme.”

They came to a fountain. The water ran through channels obediently into the bowl below. Not even a drop spilled onto the white paving stones. The queen went on, “But I did not love him. And he didn’t love me. He loved her, she who came from no story, the twilight-imp. The imp knew the same stories I did. She made the same guesses that I made, and she cut herself from our story…”

Bit by bit, this almost sounded like something Zelda knew, but she needed time to work it out, if the queen could slow down in her speech, but Zelda might have well have argued with a six-foot tall metronome.

“I should have stepped aside. They could have been happy.” For the first time, the queen’s voice trembled. “She left, and his heart broke. I shouldn’t have let her go, or I should have sent him to join her. Light needs shadow, forever. Learn from me. Remember me.”

“I’ll remember, Zelda,” she said. When she woke up, she was surprised by how the blackness relieved her eyes.

15.

Deeper into the caves. Zelda’s eyes were growing adjusted to the dark, so that firelight made her wince. Every league got a little chillier and damper, but Link insisted that Zelda wear his downy Rito gear. He said he didn’t need it so much, and Zelda was happy to have his care.

They forded an underground river, which at least had a little light—mushrooms glowed on either bank. The most difficult part of the crossing was Kilton’s pack. He was as fussy over it as a mother hen over her eggs, and when they reached the other side and camped, he did a thorough inventory to check for damages.

Zelda had to admit, the merchant had procedure. All his items were laid out in neat rows in a grid. Link was studying a grid made of masks, but he didn’t touch them. Occasionally, he asked about at one mask or another, and Kilton would explain a little about its history. He always added the price, just in case Link was interested in buying.

Zelda listened to the explanations, and at length she asked, “What about this one?” She pointed to a mask that had caught her eye from the start. It was a peculiar, flat disc with an electrum sheen. An abstract shape was carved on it—was it two vines twining together?

Kilton turned to look, and smiled. “That’s a family heirloom. Not for sale.”

“Is it very old?” Zelda asked.

Kilton snorted and turned back to his work. “Nah. It dates back to my parents’ wedding. That’s their marriage mask. Back home, a couple makes a mask to announce their commitment. And you invite over all the neighbors, gather at dusk, ceremony at moonrise, dance until sunrise. _That’s_ the only way to party.”

Zelda nodded and drew away. Something wrung her heart—something about dusk, about happy celebrations, something about the moon. She missed the moon terribly.

16.

Again, a dream that began in Zelda’s study.

She was half-expecting to hear a voice, but all she heard was a hoarse moan that shook the desk.

She dropped to her hands and knees and searched. Far below the desk, among dust bunnies, there was an old icon, painted on wood. It was hardly legible, but still, Zelda thought it looked like her. Long, falling hair. Eyes filling with tears. Hardly a face, just a way to express melancholy. A princess of an age so long ago…

“Listen to me…” came a small voice.

She didn’t use Zelda’s name. Did she even remember their name anymore? The icon spoke, in a voice like pebbles echoing in a well, “I regret so much. I regret.”

And Zelda got angry. In the dream, her anger boiled up quick and hot. These stupid dreams, what earthly _good _were they? She shouted at the icon, _What does this have to do with me?_

And the dream vanished, and she woke up, ashamed that she’d wasted a goddess-granted vision with a temper tantrum. She scratched at an itch on her arm. What was the matter with her sleeve?

17.

_Gods above, I miss my pyjamas_, she thought. Sleeping in traveling gear and a Rito-down jacket got old really fast. And so did sleeping on rocks. And so did sleeping near a firepit.

Oh well. All for a good cause. She sat up and undid the buckles on her outer gauntlet. As she pulled it off, she something weird. The outer part of her forearm had a little swell, like a bug bite. She frowned. The tight fabric was irritating. She rolled up her sleeve, and the cloth caught on three little mushrooms. She pulled the fabric back and peered closer, and her brain realized there were _mushrooms growing from her forearm_.

“Link?” she said. “Kilton?” How she managed to keep her voice steady, she didn’t know. “I need help. I need help right now.”

She started probing the spot with the fingers of her other hand. The mushrooms grew in a line parallel with her ulna bone. Around the mushrooms, her skin was white and numb. _Gods almighty_

“Yes?” She hadn’t noticed Kilton’s approach.

“Mushrooms,” she said, “my arm—“ She held it out and his eyes widened.

“I admit, that’s disturbing,” he said, and lit a candle. “I’ll do my best—I’m going to take samples, of course.”

“Samples?”

“Well, as a fellow scientist, you understand,” he told her. “We’ll want to study this specimen. I’ve seen things like it in the caves—“

“Yes, but please get it off—_out of _my arm.” She choked up. A diagram from a botany textbook flashed into her memory: the biggest part of a fungus’ structure was usually _underneath the surface_. The fungus had done something to her nerves, so she didn’t feel pain. What if the bloodflow was choked? What if the muscle was dead? What if the fungus reached bone and sent spores through her marrow? She started breathing quickly, too quickly—

“Deep breaths, Miss, deep breaths. Drink this.” A small bottle with a black label was pushed into her free hand. She tossed it back and swallowed. Fire coated her throat—Gerudo Town’s best cactus tequila—and she coughed hard. “Where’s Link?” she turned her head to search.

“Please sit still. He went out foraging. He was eating his rations for tomorrow, and the day after, and I rather snapped at him… so he went out to find more to eat.”

She dared to look at her arm. Kilton was cleaning a scalpel with the tequila. More bottles, some empty, some full, stood ready to use.

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Very much,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I’ll be quick as I can be.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, and wished Link were here. Why wasn’t he here? Was he so hungry that it overrode her? Everything they had together? Tears spring to her eyes, and her hands were in fists.

“Please relax your hand. Miss, would you please list for me the organisms that live in caves like this?”

Zelda’s head cleared briefly. She took a deep breath. “Bats, by the colony. Beetles, flies, whose larvae may—“ all of a sudden her arm hurt like _hell _and instead of screaming she said, through clenched teeth, “beetles and flies may have larvae that glow in the dark and we call them glow-worms. Snakes in the water, as well as subterranean fish…”

When she’d run out of cave-dwelling animals, Kilton asked her to describe animals of Faron’s rainforest. If she peppered the names of monkey and pig species with lots of swearwords, Kilton never commented. It took two more ecosystems until the pain ebbed.

Kilton bandaged her arm. He had preserved plenty of samples, and the rest he had burned. Zelda was testing flexing her hand—it hurt, but she thought she could recover.

“Kilton?” she said, as the monster merchant got up to pack away his samples. “Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

“Least I can do for my fellow wanderer,” he said, and gave a little bow.

Zelda’s brain blanked out while she waited for Link to return. One thought recurred over and over in her dull, exhausted mind. _Mushrooms grow in dead things_.

She sat up a little straighter. She used her good hand to feel her heartbeat between her breasts, and her pulse at her neck. She breathed in deeply, and said, loudly enough to reach Kilton,

“I’m not dead.”

“That’s the spirit, Miss,” he replied. “Oh, hullo, Link!” 

“Link—“ Her heart leapt. Zelda turned around to see Link entering the circle of firelight. His arms were full of carcasses and vermin.

18.

Link always had a big appetite. He always took third helpings. Link might have had a hollow leg for all that extra food. Nothing to worry about.

But… he was eating _so much_. Zelda began to fret. She couldn’t stop watching how Link would cook up one kebab after another. When he ran out of moles and eels, he started eating bugs.

Zelda considered herself as hardy as any biologist, but these millipedes and grubs squirming and trying to escape—_disgusting_. They writhed away from the firelight—of course, these bugs lived peaceful lives in darkness—but Link just cooked them up, and drizzled Monster Extract on them to make a brilliant purple sauté. And then he stuffed it into his mouth. The cavern echoed with the crunch of teeth.

Zelda looked away. She tried to focus on notes, but the sound of his chewing and swallowing—was Link bulging up? Was he swelling out of his Champion’s Tunic, the one she’d made for him?... no, that had to be just the firelight, focus, Zelda, don’t start seeing things that just aren’t there…

What she saw was the glow from his infected arm, dancing on the cave walls.

19.

When Link was satiated (_finally_), Zelda laid out her bedroll beside his. If she felt a shiver of repulsion, she squashed it. This was Link, her knight, her _friend_, and they loved each other and they would be married, as soon as this nonsense was sorted out. What was a little eccentricity, some lengthened canines, and a sudden burst of entomophagy, compared to that?

What was a curse, compared to their love?

Zelda decided to remind Link of that.

His eyes were downcast, as if in shame. He looked at her when she said his name. With a little smile, she signed <I love you> to him, mouthing the words for good measure.

Link’s eyes widened. He signed, <I love you> in return, but his words were imbalanced. His glowing hand only half-made the signs.

He looked so tired, Zelda’s heart ached with pity. She suggested in sign that they go to sleep, and he nodded in assent. As they lay down, she reached over and kissed his cheek. His skin was damp with sweat, and chilly. “Sweet dreams,” she said to him.

“I love you,” he whispered, and then settled to sleep on his left side, back to back with her. Maybe he was retreating back into silence.

A hundred years ago, he’d learned a few basic signs as part of his warrior training. After all, a knight must be ready to fight in all conditions—silence and noise alike. Then he had been set aside—no ordinary knight he, but a goddess-appointed Champion. The urgency of Calamity Ganon tied his tongue, but he could sign more easily. The Sheikah taught him their signs, and at first he found it a fun outlet, almost play. But as time went by, even that became corrupted by his anxiety. His hands cramped, as though they were meant only to grip the Master Sword…

But then after his resurrection, before he spoke to a nation of strangers, he could sign comfortably. And language had become fun again, and he healed, in soul as he had in body…

But now…

Zelda resolved she’d be kinder. More patient. He had her love, and he needed to know that. She turned onto her right side, and prayed for good dreams for them both.

20.

Now _this _was more like it.

In this dream, Zelda was dressed as a Sheikah girl. The forest, she would bet, was the one over Kakariko Village. Fireflies flickered in the twilight. Peace suffused the forest, and she gave a sigh of relief.

Zelda gathered blue nightshade and silent princess. Dewdrops caught the light and turned flowers into jewels, even though she thought it was sunset. Oh, well. The basket was light on her arm. Somewhere she could smell wild mint—then she heard laughter. The mischievous giggle of a Korok. She climbed up a little slope, following the laugh, and when she plucked the innocent-looking acorn out of the tree’s hollow, the Korok appeared. Zelda laughed. Then the Korok leapt away, light as the whirlybird from a maple tree. Zelda followed, her footsteps dream-light, as night gathered.

The Korok stopped over a ravine. A contained campfire glowed beneath them. Zelda peered in—oh, the delight of spying!—and saw two curious creatures. One was a stooped man wearing a mask. The mask looked like Kilton’s face, which in dream-sight was not horrifying, but homey, a nice little joke. Behind the grey mask, she caught a glimpse of bright red hair, carefully combed. Bone-white hands were clasped by the fire. “I think you’re being over-hasty,” he said, in Kilton’s wheedling tenor voice.

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve waited too long,” said the creature seated across the fire. Now _here _was a funny little beast, with stubby legs and a comically big head, blue petals and green leaves trailing into something like a hat. Zelda hadn’t seen a Deku Scrub outside of crypto-botany texts. Some scholars argued that Deku Scrubs were merely misclassified Octoroks, others said that they were the juvenile form of Koroks, others maintained that the poor things had gone extinct long ago. But this was a Deku Scrub, she was sure of it. He even had glowing mushrooms suffusing the bark of one arm. What a wonderful picture her dream had conjured up! Zelda found the Scrub utterly charming.

“She loves you so much. She’ll be heartbroken if you leave,” said the masked man. “You should believe in your strength, and hers, too.”

“She’ll miss me,” said the Deku Scrub, and his voice was thick with regret, like woodworm, “but if I leave now, she’ll remember me as human. As _sane_. If I stay here, she’ll see me as I… devolve. I’ll turn into something horrible. I don’t want her to see that. If I can leave her with a good memory—a memory of her good, faithful knight. Let her keep that. She’s lost so much already.”

“You could ask her,” said the masked man, in a casual tone. “She might want to weigh in.”

“I’ve made the decision. I’ve made it now, while I still can, before my mind goes. Gods, her look as I was eating…” his shameful voice trailed off. “The Sheikah Slate has a way to call to the four Helpers. When I’m gone—“

“Helpers?”

“Prince Sidon of the Zora, Teba Bright-Bow of the Rito, Yunobo Shieldson of the Gorons, and Chief Riju of the Gerudo. When I’m gone—”

“I thought they were called Champions,” he interrupted.

“They refused,” said the Deku Scrub, and his voice was firm. “Each one agreed, the title of Champion was sacred to the dead. They call themselves Helpers, and promised to join us if I call them.”

“You’ll call them, then?”

“_When I’m gone_, you’re going to suggest to Zelda that _she _call them with the Sheikah Slate. Try to say it, you know, not so obvious. If she wants to call all four, that’s fine, though I’m not sure if Teba would do well here. The Helpers will come, and they’ll console her, and she’ll be _fine _and she’ll _figure it out _and she’ll save the kingdom and make it back up to the sunshine, and that’s enough for me.”

“You must be certain. I’ve never heard you say so many words in a row,” the Kilton-masked man said thoughtfully. Then he said, “Once again, though, I behoove you to trust her.”

The Deku Scrub shook his head and got to his stubby legs. “It’s better this way. I won’t hurt her, she’ll remember her good knight.” He turned to leave.

“Goodnight,” replied the masked salesman.

A shudder went through Zelda—she woke up. “Link?” she asked, in a haze.

“I’m here.” She heard him, smelled him. “It’s all fine. Go back to sleep.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, and the intimacy, the care he took—she relaxed at once. He was humming the lullaby that she had taught him as she fell back asleep.

21.

“Zelda! Help me, Zelda! Please!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming, wait for me!”

This was a dream, she knew. She _knew _she was deep underground, hours and hours away from the sunlight, and here she stood in a huge, shifting desert. The sky was burning blue, unbounded by clouds, and Link was calling for her, terrified.

“Zelda, please! I can’t fight it—help!”

“I’m coming! Hold on!”

She raced over the sand, but her feet kept sinking and slipping. When she looked to the horizon, she saw Divine Beast Vah Naboris presiding over turquoise waves—but that had to be a mirage, because the Gerudo lived in a desert. There was nothing but desert, it had always been only desert.

“Please! Zelda! My heart!” He was sobbing now.

“I’m coming!”

She broke over a hill and saw him, and her heart leapt with joy before she realized—she had no idea who this man was. He was tall, with a Gerudo’s coloring, wearing sky blue. Her dream-self loved him, but he wasn’t Link—was he?

The wind tossed his red hair high around him—the wind looked like it would tear him to pieces. He reached out for Zelda and called something, but the wind stole his words. 

“Who are you?” Zelda called to him.

She could _see _the man’s heart break in his eyes. He begged for her to recognize him, but she didn’t—then the sun and wind battered at the man, and he _shriveled _before her eyes, until his skin was grey and his muscles were paper and he was a desiccated corpse but his eyes were still whole and devastated—

And when Zelda shoved herself awake, she could still hear the wind and scream, echoes dying through the caverns. She lay still, listening to her own breathing until her heart slowed—

Suddenly, she was aware of the silence. She heard only her own breathing, and Kilton’s snore from across the fire. Nothing else.

She sat up. Always, Link was at Zelda’s back, heartbeat to heartbeat, breath to breath. But he wasn’t there.

23.

Something seemed inevitable about his departure.

It still hurt.

She swallowed hard, and when tears fell, she didn’t try to blink them away. Why shouldn’t she cry a little? Everything that made her life bright had just run away. Zelda said, “Kilton?”

“Mmr?” he stirred awake and turned to her.

“Link’s gone.”

“Is that so?” he said. His voice came out a little garbled. “He’s met with a terrible fate, then.” He shifted himself into a sitting position, and looked at Link’s empty bedroll. He signed. “I thought we had contained the infection.”

“I thought we had, too,” she said. “He’s fled into the cave. I don’t think we can pursue him. I think he’s… he’s changing into something that belongs in the caves.”

“You’re probably right.” For a while, the only noise was the crackling fire. “For what it’s worth,” Kilton added, “I’m really sorry it came to this. I like him a lot.”

“I like him, too,” said Zelda. She took a deep breath. “To track him down, to track down the monsters, to save my kingdom… it’s too much. I can’t do it alone.”

“Of course you can’t do this alone.”

“Pardon?”

“Sorry if that sounded rude—look. Humans are _social _monsters, like wolves. You shouldn’t have to endure alone, not with something so big. Even the Divine Beasts run in a pack of four.”

That should have comforted Zelda, but it had the opposite effect. “I wish they were here. Revali and Daruk, Mipha and—and Urbosa,” she said, with a little sob. “I wish they could help.”

“They believed in you, Princess. And you rewarded that faith, didn’t you? The Calamity’s gone the way of the dinosaurs.”

“The way of the what?”

“Oh, dinosaurs, I’ll tell you about them later, you’ll love ‘em. But the point is, Miss—you aren’t trapped in a castle anymore. You’ve endured horrors that I can’t imagine. You’re tougher than Hinox hide, you know that, right?” The phrase provoked a surprised laugh from Zelda. She wiped her eyes, and saw that Kilton was unwrapping a flat package she hadn’t seen before. “I think this can help. Just because Link’s gone, doesn’t mean he can’t be saved.”

She sat up straighter. “Tell me what I have to do.”

He grinned at her. “Oh, you’re a clever kid, I’m sure you’ll work out the step-by-step yourself. All I want to say is, believe in your strengths… believe, ‘kay?”

“My strengths.” Zelda made a brief internal tally. She could think well, record data, she could get angry, she could keep a good map in her head. She was bad at heaps of things, not least of which was fighting. “My strengths aren’t even.”

“Everyone’s strength is uneven. That’s what makes us monsters. So believe in what you can do. This may help.” He held out the disc in his hands. A mask.

She took the mask from him. A lifted pig-snout, big leather flaps for ears, needle fangs—a bat’s face, with hollow eye sockets. She could feel magic spinning in it. This was a transformation mask. She lifted her eyes. The cavern ceilings rose and rose into shadow. Echoes and ghosts would cling to these stones. But a bat could find her way with ease.

“Plenty of room up there to fly,” Kilton hinted to her, following her gaze. “You’d be surprised how different you feel when you’re behind a mask.”

Zelda nodded. “Thank you, Kilton. I will take care of this loan.” She stood up. Somewhere further in, Link was in need of her. “I’ll see you later.”

Then Zelda put on the mask.


End file.
